Pain
by PhoenixoftheLostandForgotten
Summary: The pain was unbearable, but he had to bear it alone.


Pain. It's the only thing in your life that has always been there. It

eats away at you, eroding your soul. It burns like fire inside of you,

until you feel like a charred lump. It's never ending. It is always

there, never lessening, never going away. It tears at you, beats on

your mind, demanding to be heard. You want to give in, break under the

pressure. But you don't. You can't give in, can't show weakness. If

you give in, just a little, you'll crack. You will crack and break

under the strain of that constant weight. Then comes the day that you

just can't stand it any longer. You can't take one more day of forced

smiles, of masked hurt. One more day of being relied on, trusted by

everyone you love. They can't see what you really are, what you really

think or feel. They can't see how much you struggle each and every

day, the terrible burden settled in your chassis, bringing you down.

You just want it to end, to be free from the lies and hurt of this

war. You want to lie down and sleep, sleep for all eternity. Because

in sleep, nothing hurts. Nothing can kill you, eat you from the inside

out. The guilt, the betrayal, the lonliness, the sadness, the anger,

the hate, it all comes down to one word. Pain. You hate it, you hate

that feeling. It isolates you, cuts you off from everthing else, until

that is all that's left. There is nothing else in the world but that

pain. It kills you, seeing how trusting the others are. They believe

in you, rely on you, need you to help guide them through their own

emotions, their own pain. You help them because it is all you can do.

You don't want them to become like you, haunted by pain and despair.

You wish that someone were there to comfort you, to help you through.

But you know it is to late. There is no help for you. You are already

to far gone, beyond help from anyone. You retreat inside yourself,

brooding. You don't want them to see it, to see what you feel. It

makes you feel guilty, deceiving them like this. You envy their

innocence, their ignorance. You never asked for this war to happen.

You never asked to feel like this. You just wanted to have a normal

life. But you can't. So there is only one other option. You take that

chance, that option. You write your last words to the world. You put

it on the desk where they will find it, hoping that they won't blame

themselves. You put the cold, hard barrel of a blaster to your head

and smile slightly, knowing that it would all be over soon. You pull

the trigger as they barge in, yelling at you to stop. But it's to

late. You feel the bullet enter your head, feel the sharp pain of it

slicing through to the other side. You fall into the dark, welcoming

it as a long lost friend. Your head hits the desk, energon spilling

out of the wound. The others stand in silence, watching it fall over

the edge of the steel slab and hit the floor. They pick up the note,

each reading it one at a time. They all have tears slipping down their

cheeks, remembering the times that they had with you. They remembered

how you had helped them through everything, remembered how kind and

understanding you had been. None of them had ever given a thought to

you, to how you might feel. You were always the strong one, one to

lean on when things got tough. They never considered the fact that you

were shouldering all of their burdens, taking them so that they might

not become like you. They never considered how much you did for them,

how much shit you put up with. You had been fighting alongside them

for eons, but they had never seen, never suspected. You had covered it

well enough to hide it from your closest friends. They look at your

limp form, already turning gray. They want to keep the color in you

giving you now cold body life again. They want you back, want the

crimson red and sapphire blue to flow back into your chassis, want you

light blue optics to sparkle kindly at them, want to hear your regal

baritone speak reassuringly to them. They want Optimus Prime to come

back, to have a second chance at life. But it was to late. You were

already gone.


End file.
